Sherlock's Chariot
by emily.robbins.313
Summary: Sherlock is paralysed after saving John's life and thinks that this means the end of his life. John has to convince him that that isn't true. Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or the other characters in this story. Rating is conservative, may be less but I thought it was best to be safe. Donovan makes a short appearance. If you put on your shipper goggles, you may see Mollstrade.
1. Bitterness turns to happiness

Sherlock stared at the dust covered floor of 221b. It was a long hospital stay and he had hated every second of it. What he did was nonsensical. Why did he do it? His life was now pretty much ruined, in his opinion.

"There we are, Sherlock. I think we will definitely have to call a builder in about converting the stairs into ramps. It'll be a bit hard to go places for a little while…" John was only trying to help; but his comments were met only with a pained sigh and a small tear stain upon the dusty floor. Sherlock didn't want to think about recent events; even if it was impossible. "Come on, Sherlock. Please talk to me! You saved my life… I hate seeing you like this," John sounded like he was pleading.

"I'm fine. Just trying to accept that my life is ruined," Sherlock gave an empty chuckle, "All because of… _human error_." Sherlock spat his words with disgust.

"Sherlock… Your life isn't ruined; you can still be fairly independent, you can-"

John's comforting was interrupted by Sherlock's bitter words, "Can I chase criminals through the streets with the wind in my hair and my heart alive with adrenaline?"

"No… But-"

"I'm I able to go to the morgue at Bart's and be able to see the corpse properly?"

"They must have a solution to-"

"Who will stay by me now? I can't do my work; so that's good bye to Gavin-"

"Greg." John corrected.

"I can't go to the Morgue; good bye Molly…"

"Again, I'm sure they can do something about that."

"I can't offer you a life of excitement any more… Hello psychosomatic limp… Good bye…" Sherlock's eyes watered, "Good bye John Watson."

John embraced Sherlock in a comforting hug. "Believe me, Sherlock; I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock couldn't help but let a tear fall from his cheek.

"That's what people have said… and then they left," Sherlock's voice broke. John couldn't help but feel his heart crack slightly.

"I'm not people, Sherlock," John looked down at Sherlock's legs, "I don't care if you can't feel your legs; I will always be here."

Sherlock stared down at his wheel chair and motionless limbs. Mycroft's words rattled around his mind; 'caring is not an advantage, caring is not an advantage'. Sherlock winced; how right Mycroft had been.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. John ran down the stairs, another tear fell from Sherlock's eye as he thought that he'd never be able to rush down the stairs like that in a frenzy again; agile and excited at the possibility of an exciting case. He let his head fall into his hands. No more cases.

John opened the door to find Greg and Molly on the doorstep clutching brown folders to their chests. "Can we come in?" Greg asked, "We have some things to discuss with Sherlock…"

"Is it good or bad?" John asked, unable to keep concern out of his voice, "he's still quite depressed and struggling with his paralysis; if it's bad, it can wait." John hated the fact that Sherlock was never going to walk again and the feeling that Sherlock was experiencing to try and deal with it.

"Don't worry, John," Greg smiled and laughed slightly.

Molly laughed too. She smiled, "It's amazing news. We've come up with some ways to help Sherlock continue to work!"

John was overwhelmed with joy. He had felt so guilty, being the cause of Sherlock's disability. "Come in! He's upstairs!"

Greg stared at the steep stairs leading up to 221b. "How the hell did you manage to get him up there?"

"It wasn't easy. We're getting some builders in to make the flat wheelchair accessible," John tried not to let his guilt show, but it would be understandable; after all, because of him, Sherlock will never walk, never run, never even swoop his coat dramatically as he always did. Was he even going to act like himself anymore?

"That'll be good for Sherlock… Right?" Greg asked, naively. A small wince escaped John's lips. The guilt suddenly came flooding back.

"I'm not so sure. He's obsessed by the fact that, because of his condition, we're going to leave him and he'll be all alone; so he's trying to ignore it. Any time I so much as mention any thing about after care and his… paralysis, he gets angry, depressed and he's even broken down a few times." John was now even guiltier.

"And how are you dealing with it?" Greg asked.

"I'm not the one who's paralysed." John stated.

"But you're the reason why he's paralysed…" Molly pointed out which made Greg elbow her sharply in the ribs.

"Molly, don't you think I feel guilty enough! But I didn't make him jump in front of me to take that bullet! I did the best I could to help him but… but…" John looked like he was about to have a break down.

"John, it isn't your fault! Molly was just being extremely rude. Shall we go up now?" John nodded frailly. As Lestrade walked up the stairs, he called back, "This'll make one hell of a ramp! Like a helter-skelter!" Why was Greg acting like a child? That was usually Sherlock's position… Not anymore, though. Molly quickly followed, leaving John to gingerly follow after them.

When the three entered 221b, Sherlock was attempting to move himself from his wheelchair to his armchair. He grunted in pain and frustration.

"Look, Sherlock, let me help you!" John tried to comfort with slight annoyance in his voice.

"No! No, I need to learn to do this myself!" John shrugged off Sherlock's refusal and tried to support him onto the chair, "I said no! Don't touch me!" John backed away from Sherlock and slumped into the kitchen to make some tea.

"I'm happy to hear you stayed in hospital as long as they wanted you to…" Molly tried to make conversation.

"It's not like I could get up and run away," Sherlock mumbled, bitterly

Greg bent down beside Sherlock, "hey, how you doing, Sherlock?"

"Oh shit…" mumbled John. He knew how Sherlock would react.

"Don't bend down to talk to me! Talk to me like you would talk to anyone else!" Sherlock yelled. It was wrong to say that he never liked being different, you might even say he loved it, but this… this was too different, "And don't give me that patronising tone either!"

"Get up Greg…" John sighed from the kitchen. Greg immediately stumbled to his feet.

"Sorry Sherlock…" Greg apologised.

"Don't give me your pity. I don't need it," Sherlock's voice was monotone, yet still sounded bitter, if that was at all possible, "You're just feeling guilty because you've both come to fire me… Go ahead. It's not like I could be more pathetic and miserable!"

"Sherlock, we're here because we have amazing news!" Molly exclaimed. She looked so happy, which annoyed Sherlock no end.

"What is this _amazing news_?" Sherlock asked with a twist of sarcasm. No news seemed amazing at this point.

"It is amazing news Sherlock…" John tried to defend.

"Go. Away." Sherlock snarled.

"Sherlock, why are you acting like this? You're the one who saved his life!" Greg shouted, confused. It was confusing. You don't save someone's life and then ignore or verbally attack them.

"It was human error, that's all…" Sherlock bitterly sighed.

Molly bit her lip. _Oh my God! OH MY GOD!_ She thought. She knew what Sherlock meant by human error. If he was talking about friendship, he would have said sentiment, not human error. Human error was Sherlock's way of saying_ love_.

"You would have bled out if it wasn't for John," Molly pointed out, "He did manage to save your life as well, Sherlock…"

"What life could I possibly have now?" Sherlock asked, close to tears.

"Sherlock, you can still come to crime scenes, or you can work from here, if you prefer…" Greg explained.

"That's what we came to talk to you about! We have some ideas that mean you'll still be able to work with us!" Molly was almost in hysterics. She grabbed Greg's folder and passed it to Sherlock along with her own folder, "Look, LOOK, _LOOK_!"

Sherlock looked at Molly's folder first. It was the floor plan of the morgue, but with subtle changes. The counter-tops were low and there were special call buttons, at wheelchair accessible height, labelled 'for assistance'. Molly had even gotten hold of the plans and made the wheelchair stickman look a little like Sherlock, with curly locks and cheekbones. John thought Sherlock would mind, but he actually found it a little funny and sweet.

"Construction should be finished by tomorrow…" Molly added.

"What's this?" Sherlock asked, a smile invaded his features and his eyes lit up with joy.

"You're not the only one who can manipulate people!" Molly beamed.

"Is there something you need to tell me Molly?" Greg teased, with a hint of genuine concern.

"It wasn't blackmail, per say… I threatened to go to the unions if they didn't make the morgue wheelchair accessible; it isn't that bad! It should be _by law_ anyway!"

"Calm down Molly. This is…" Sherlock smiled the widest smile he had in months, "Amazing… No, more than that… It's… I can't even describe it! Come here!" Sherlock gestured for her to come closer to him. He locked her in a tight hug and gave her a quick peck on the cheek; which made her blush, not being over her crush on him. John stared at Molly, why the hell was he jealous of _her_?!

"I'm a bit nervous about what you'll do to me once you read what's in my envelope!" Greg teased, "Please promise you won't pull me in for a snog!"

"John would probably punch you if he did," Molly giggled quietly.

"What?" the whole room seemed to ask at once.

"Nothing!" She could feel her cheeks turning crimson.

"Why are you waiting Sherlock? Open my folder!" Greg smiled.

"Oh, right!" Sherlock was definitely like a child on Christmas morning, with Greg acting like a competitive relation; 'open my present now! It's the best!'

Sherlock held a contract in his hand. "This is even better than your situation now! You get paid, a comfortable £40,000 a year…" there was a smash from the kitchen as John dropped a coffee mug, "you get an office; you can still go to crime scenes; your title, consulting detective, becomes one hundred percent official; and, best of all, you don't have to take any case you don't want!" Greg beamed.

Sherlock stared at Greg and Molly with a slack-jawed smile. Realising that he looked too happy, he picked a small fault, "I still won't be able to chase criminals… I'll get in the way…"

"No…" Greg sighed, "You'll have to call me when you have a breakthrough, and our officers will chase them down." He shifted his feet awkwardly.

"That's ok, I guess," Sherlock sighed, "I've kind of lost favour with it…" Sherlock couldn't help but to smile from ear to ear. He was happy. Oh… Wait… He needed to apologise to poor John.

"Just sign here," Greg pointed at a dotted line at the bottom of the page, offering Sherlock a pen. Sherlock didn't wait a single second to sign.

He looked up at the two faces of Greg and Molly with his sparkling silvery-blue eyes, "Thank you," he smiled.

"Sherlock don't say thank you, it freaks me out!" Greg laughed.

Sherlock looked at him confused, "Isn't that what you're meant to do when someone does something like this for you?"

"Don't worry Sherlock, I was joking," warmth was emitting from Greg's voice, he was pleased to see Sherlock like this, "I think we should leave you to it, right Molly?" Molly nodded quickly and enthusiastically. "Right; bye John; look after yourself Sherlock; come by Monday and we'll go through cases in your _new office_!"

"Yeah, sure!" gasped Sherlock, almost out of breath.

As John closed the door behind Molly and Greg, he turned to Sherlock, a smile on his face.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you John; you mean a lot to me, I was in a foul mood and for some reason, I took it out on you. I feel so bad now. I don't even know why I've acted so appallingly towards you…" At that moment, Sherlock started trying to get into his armchair again.

"It's ok Sherlock, I understand." John soothed, relieved that Sherlock was sorry for his behaviour and apologised. "A thank you and an apology within ten minutes? Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?" he laughed.

"Shut up," Sherlock laughed, but his demeanour soon became more serious. John could tell this instantly.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John asked, concerned.

"I'm fine…" Sherlock took a deep breath, "there's something I think I need to talk to you about…"

"Is it bad?" John's heart sank. Was this about something he did? He didn't know what he could have possibly done, but this was Sherlock; it could be anything.

"Depends how you see it…" Sherlock shrugged with a shaky breath; trying, but not succeeding, to hide his nervousness.

"Oh…" John was terrified. What on earth was the matter? He had never seen Sherlock Holmes like this. He sat on his armchair, preparing for the worst; he really did not know what was about to happen.


	2. Molly and Greg

As the door shut behind her and Greg, she started to bound around him; seeming to jump six feet in the air. "Oh my God! Did you hear that? Oh my God! Do you see what it means? Oh my God, oh my God!" She laughed hysterically.

"Molly! Calm down and tell me what you mean!" The Greg that made the helter-skelter comment was now hidden from the outside world; while Molly continued her hyper mood.

"Human error! He said human error!" She definitely seemed insane to Greg.

"Molly, if you don't start making sense, I swear, I will put you in a mental institution!" his mood had obviously nose-dived being in the cold January snow, ice and cold air. Not to mention that the taxis had stopped, due to the fact that the road was a gigantic sheet of ice now.

"Hello? Have you only just met Sherlock Holmes? Human error! Not sentiment!" Molly could see that Greg was confused. "This is Sherlock! Have you not noticed that he says sentiment when it's things like friendship and love for a relation and human error when…" she stopped, only gesturing, allowing Greg to get to the conclusion on his own.

"He says human error when he means love!" Greg jumped almost as high as Molly when he came to that conclusion, "Sherlock loves John?!"

Molly suddenly stopped bouncing and made a big realisation, "What if John doesn't feel the same?" The excitement fled both of them.

"Oh God, he's going to be crushed…" Greg started.

"Yeah. He'll need someone to talk to, I'll be there, he'll start to have a break down, I'll comfort him, our eyes met, realisation like a bolt of lightning striking us and one thing will lead to another and…" Molly became quieter and quieter towards the end.

"What?" Greg asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"What?" Molly asked, startled.

Greg shook his head, "forget it…"

Molly took a breath. It had suddenly become awkward.

"Still… Sherlock likes John… weird…" Greg sighed. Molly only nodded.


	3. Freaks don't deserve food

"So… yeah…" Sherlock concluded, not knowing where to go from there. He had confessed everything; put his heart on the line.

'Caring is not an advantage.' Mycroft's words echoed in his mind.

"Oh, Sherlock…" John sighed with a smile, his heart melted into liquid in his chest, "For a genius, you can be amazingly thick sometimes!"

For a second, Sherlock thought this was rejection. It felt awful. He could almost feel his heart starting to shatter. But, then; John, John Watson, leaned down and planted a short yet passionate kiss on his lips.

"Come on, it's starting to get late. I have to carry you to bed for now; meaning no late-night experiments for a while!" John smiled playfully.

"That's alright," Sherlock sighed, still a little breathless from John's kiss, "I'll probably need some help with accessibility to the taller equipment, anyway…"

"Come on, let's go," John helped Sherlock out of the wheelchair and the detective clung to him with a slight smile on his lips, but this did nothing to hinder the doctor's concern, "Jesus, Sherlock; you're very light! A bit too light! Were you eating properly in hospital?"

The smile disappeared from Sherlock's lips. He only closed his eyes in response. "Oh, Sherlock…" It wasn't anger or disappointment that John felt, it was concern, but it wasn't an oppressing concern, it was soft and made John want to comfort Sherlock.

"I couldn't do it, I just couldn't…" Sherlock buried his head in John's jumper. He had honestly tried.

"Ok, it's alright," John kissed the top of Sherlock's head, "We'll talk about it in a second; let me just put you on the bed." They were in his room, and Sherlock had no idea until that moment.

John pulled the duvet over Sherlock and looked into his shining eyes as he climbed into the other side of the bed. He shuffled into a comfortable position and stared at his boyfriend.

"Why didn't you eat properly in hospital?" John was careful to keep his words comforting.

"Something I was told a long time ago. It still affects me. It's why I don't eat on cases…" Sherlock allowed a tear to drop to the bed sheet.

"What was it?" John moved closer to him and placed a hand on Sherlock's chest. He could see hurt in Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. "Freaks don't deserve food. It was something that was said to me every day by bullies that took my food and money. It was said so often to me that I started to have trouble eating; their words kept playing in my mind! I would feel sick if I had so much as half a slice of bread…" Sherlock pulled himself towards John, putting his head on John's chest, "When Donovan calls me a freak, it comes flooding back and I can't bring myself to eat… After the case is done, it takes about half a day, but I can stomach a few things, like toast…"

John was shocked. Sargent Donovan's words always seemed not to bother Sherlock; but that was only acting, acting perfected after years of hard work. "So, what happened at the hospital?" John started to stroke Sherlock's brunette curls.

"That was my fault; I have the utmost respect for people with disabilities, always have, but I still convinced myself that I was even more of a freak now than ever. I couldn't bring myself to eat. I'd have good days, where I could eat a little, but only enough to stop me fading away; the same as it was all those years ago…"

"Sherlock, look at me, you have never been a freak…" John tried to comfort, "People just thought you were different and chose to call you names because they were threatened by your intelligence. You aren't a freak."

"Can you stay here tonight? I'm cold. It's nice to have some extra heat." Of course he was cold, he was skin, bone and a little muscle.

"Sure, Sherlock," John said, a slight smile tugged at his lips but was swallowed up by the lingering concern.

"Thank you." The brunette whispered.


	4. The alley

The night quickly came and Sherlock had fallen asleep in John's arms. He was peaceful, to begin with, but it changed very quickly.

_Sherlock and John were in a dark alley, the murderer chasing __**them**__ for once. He had murdered a war veteran, which did seem to affect John slightly; but he had murdered his wife and child when the police had come and somehow managed to slip past the officers and Sherlock, because Sherlock had been distracted by John as he sometimes found himself. _

_The alley reached a dead end and the detective and doctor could go no further._

_ "__Put the gun down, we won't hurt you," John told the gunman._

_ "__No, you'll arrest me! Lying to me is never a good idea!" the gunman was agitated and pulled the trigger. The gun fired, freezing John to the spot, bringing back memories of Afghanistan._

_Without thinking, Sherlock found himself enveloping John, his back facing the gunman, and a searing pain in his back as the bullet struck and he collapsed to the floor._

_John regained his senses and, with a well-placed bullet, stopped the gunman._

_A doctor strode into view. "Bullet caught between the L2 and L3 vertebrae, severed spinal cord, __**permanent**__ paralysis." With the blind statement of facts, he disappeared._

"John… John…" Sherlock didn't know he was mumbling in his sleep.

_"__Shh, Sherlock; the ambulance will be here soon. Can you walk?"_

"No…" Sherlock mumbled, catching John's attention.

_"__Can you feel your legs?" _

"No… No… No!" Sherlock's mumbling became louder; John decided to wake him up.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up! It's only a dream!" John shook Sherlock's shoulders.

The detectives eyes shot open, "I can't feel my legs John!" he screamed, his mind still in his dream.

"Sherlock, you're fine. You're in 221b," John held a hand on Sherlock's chest. The detective calmed down.

"Sorry, John," He apologised, "I dreamed we were back in the alley!" He felt a reassuring kiss on his forehead.

"Don't apologise, it's fine!" John laughed dryly, "You can tell me about it, if you want…" He knew Sherlock said all he was comfortable saying any more than he had already.

"It was pretty much just what happened," Sherlock shrugged, "Please don't go." He nestled into John's jumper.

"I'm not going anywhere Sherlock," John smiled, "I'm here to keep you warm."

"You do a lot more than that John," Sherlock started to mumble into his boyfriends jumper, "I love you, you keep me sane."

"Thank you, Sherlock. You've saved me many times in many ways," as Sherlock drifted back to sleep, he whispered, "I will always be here."


	5. Wheelchair pirouettes

Sherlock and John were back at Scotland Yard, on their way to Sherlock's new office. Sherlock had perfected the use of his wheelchair; he had been upset in hospital and a nurse heard that he used to love dancing and couldn't believe he'd never pirouette again and she had taken it upon her kindly self to teach Sherlock how to spin his wheelchair as if doing a pirouette. He was happier now.

He decided to show John his pirouette going down the corridor. "John, watch this!" he beamed. He spun elegantly and saw John with a smirk on his face.

"Very good, Sherlock," he laughed.

Suddenly an unfortunate sight came storming up to them. "Hey, freak on wheels!" Donovan laughed. Sherlock stared daggers at her and wasted not a single second to retort when John laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait a minute Sherlock, I want to talk to Sargent Donovan in private," John snarled. Sherlock looked at him as if to say 'don't do anything stupid' and the doctor and Donovan disappeared into an empty room.

"Listen to me _very_ carefully Sally Donovan," John snarled as he pinned her against the wall, "Don't you _ever_ even talk to my boyfriend unless it's an apology!"

"B-boyfriend-?" she questioned, terrified.

"I'm not done!" John felt his anger grow even more, "you don't know what affect it has on him! I do, and it's a bit not good!"

"B-but-" she stuttered.

"I have had enough of your crap! Do you know that he starves himself on cases? That he says it's because he can't work on a full stomach?"

She nodded weakly.

"He lies. He doesn't eat on cases because you call him a 'freak'! He was bullied as a child and told 'freaks don't deserve food'! He heard it so often that he couldn't make himself eat anymore! You calling him a 'freak' makes all those feelings return to him and _that_ is why he starves himself!" He took a breath, "Don't ever, _ever_ bother him again, Donovan!"

Donovan nodded, her life flashing before her eyes. Did she really do this to Sherlock? She despised herself. She should also tell Anderson to stop being such a dickhead towards Sherlock as well.

The two emerged from the room again to find Sherlock pirouetting again. "I wasn't doing anything!" he defended. John could feel himself smile at this lovable dork.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock, for everything!" she apologised, tears rolling down her cheeks as she rushed off to find Anderson.

"What on earth did you do to her? Whatever it is, I like it!" Sherlock smiled, "Shall we go to my office?" he beamed.

"Of course!" John smiled kindly, lovingly.

As the two continued on their way, John put an arm around Sherlock's shoulders so that all of Scotland Yard knew that Sherlock was _his_ and needed to survive him to insult Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's note: Hey guys! Thanks for reading my story! One chapter left! You excited?! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if Sherlock seems more like Benedict with the wheelchair pirouettes! (heart melting!)**


	6. This is my chariot

Sherlock was at his laptop in 221b. John noticed that the detective was missing the adrenalin rush of the chase; he decided to do something about it.

He kissed his boyfriend on the cheek, "What are you up to?" he asked.

Sherlock sighed, "An email from Moriarty; 'Sorry Sherlock, I don't like my toys broken. Goodbye. – JM'; much safer, I guess, but can't help but feel a little rejected," he huffed.

"That's unfortunate," John sighed, anyone else would feel offended at Sherlock's phrasing, but John knew better, "What are you doing now?" he looked at the computer screen, "Wheelchair dancing?" he laughed.

"I had great success with the pirouette, I thought I'd try something else!" he grinned.

"Don't get too into it," he said, staring at the YouTube clip of some very beautiful in a wheelchair, "We're going out."

"Isn't the road still covered in ice?" Sherlock asked. John didn't answer him, only pulled on his coat, a scarf and some gloves. He helped Sherlock into his coat and handed him his scarf and gloves.

Outside of the flat, the streets were alive with snowballs, snowmen and the like. John smiled when he saw a snowman that was definitely inspired by Disney's film 'Frozen'; he remembered last night he'd persuaded Sherlock to watch it when he said that it was awful and the feeling he got when he heard Sherlock singing 'Let it go' in the bath in that beautiful singing voice of his; he'd thought that the song was definitely Sherlock-like.

"So, what's up?" Sherlock smiled.

"We are going to have some fun!" John beamed; he grabbed Sherlock's wheelchair from behind and started to sprint.

"John? What the-?!" Sherlock questioned, alarmed. As the chair hit the ice on the road, John jumped and skidded at a great speed. The air ruffled Sherlock's curls as the slid along the ice together like skaters at the winter Olympics. They both laughed as they began to come to a stop. John then did the same again, and again, and again until he was exhausted. He and Sherlock were in a fit of giggles like schoolboys.

"Sherlock?" John asked with a completely serious expression on his face before he sang, "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Before he knew it, a snowball hit his face and when he wiped the snow away from his eyes he saw Sherlock laughing and giggling, "You know I hate that film!" he laughed.

Sherlock's eyes were closed, John took the opportunity. "You were singing 'Let it go'!" he laughed, throwing a snowball at Sherlock chest.

The two enjoyed the snow for the rest of the day, like children. John kept making 'Frozen' references until Sherlock finally agreed to build a snowman.

With a few more skids on the ice road, they headed back towards 221b. "How do you feel about not being able to chase criminals now?" John smiled; he could see the wide smile on his boyfriend's face.

"Surprisingly ok!" Sherlock chuckled, "My wheelchair, this is my chariot! I have gained so much; I don't care about that one minor detail anymore!"

"That's so sweet!" John smiled; sociopath his arse! "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, seeing the horde of reporters outside the flat.

"It's ok, I think I can deal with them," so John pushed him towards the gang.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! How does it feel to be back out of hospital?" One reporter shouted.

"Just great," Sherlock answered, "I have just been enjoying the snow and ice with my coll… boyfriend, John Watson." He pulled John towards him, their faces only an inch away from touching. "Come on John; let's give them something to put on the front page!" He passionately kissed John for a long time while the photographers did their jobs.

John let his mind wonder during the kiss; virgin his arse!

~The End~

Author's note: So this is it! I would love some reviews if convenient; if inconvenient, review anyway.

If Sherlock was a bit too Benedict-y and human for your liking, I apologise. Hope you enjoyed and please recommend to Sherlockians who you think would like this, but no pressure!

Thanks for reading! :)


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